It's time to write a simple verse
in honor of the common hearse,
sleekly polished, darkened glass,
slowly taking one last pass

down the tree-lined avenues,
past long-assumed, familiar views–
street lamps, fences, kids at play,
neighbor's gardens, Miss Delay,

whose laundry flaps despite the rain
from loose-gray clouds that can't refrain
from adding grimness to this line
of grieving relatives dressed up fine.

Be grateful for this sob'ring sight,
which will return to you tonight
as in your bed you fitfully
dream your own mortality.

Text and image © 2011 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved. 

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